"He has. He's staying out of it."
I blink at her, shocked and suspicious. My dad doesn't stay out of anything, ever. Literally, ever. If there's trouble, he's probably causing it. "What? Why?"
"He trusts you."
"What does that mean?" I ask, even more suspicious now. Kingston literally fell at my feet in front of the world and then told the media the lamest story ever—that he was trying to speak to Hughes, the man who was standing beside me.
No one bought it. Literally no one.
I don't know why I stepped over him like I did. It only added fuel to the fire he started. My Instagram comments are a shitshow right now. Everyone wants to know if we're dating.
"It means you've built an incredible life and career for yourself," Mom says, her tone gentle. "When you meet the man for you, you'll build something beautiful for yourself there, too. You don't need your dad telling you what to do. You're smart enough to figure it out on your own."
I stare at her for a long moment. "You know he's full of crap, right? If he said all of that, he's swimming in it."
"He usually is," she agrees with a laugh, "but he was serious this time."
"Wow." I sit back in my chair, shocked. And not entirely convinced. The day my dad actually stays out of something will be the day the whole world mourns because he's gone. And that isn't allowed to happen. He has to live forever. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. I don't even like Kingston."
"Uh-huh," Mom says, and she has that tone—you know, the one that says she thinks I'm as full of it as my dad is. "Is that why your laptop is open to his social media?"
"What?"
She points behind me.
I turn, see what she's talking about, and squeak, practically throwing myself out of my chair to slam my laptop closed.
"You saw nothing!" I cry. Research and internet stalking arenotthe same thing.
"You mean like the picture of Kingston that you were ogling?"
Dammit. Busted.
"Nothing!" I cry again.
Mom just cracks up.
An hour later, myphone dings while I'm at the piano, aimlessly striking keys like that'll give me inspiration.
I stop and scoop my phone up, frowning.
"What the hell?"
I open the notification, convinced I saw it wrong, but no. It's right there in living color. Kingston just followed me on Instagram.
"What is he doing?" I whisper…not entirely sure I even want to know. If this is his way of convincing the press to buy his lies, he needs media training. They're going to be all over this.
I want to message him to ask what he's up to now, but I don't. I don't follow him back either. I don't even open his feed. See? I have self-control.
It lasts approximately 2 minutes and 10 seconds, and then my phone dings again.
I don't even try to pretend I'm not rabidly curious. I snatch it up like it holds the answers to the universe.
"Oh my gosh," I whisper. Did this man seriously just slide into my DMs? Yes. Yes, he did.
I tap the message to see what he wants.
Kingston: I'm sorry if I embarrassed you at the game last night, princess. That wasn't my intention. In my defense, it's not every day that a man comes face to face with fate and gets a glimpse of his future. I just wanted to tell you that you have an incredible voice. It blew me away. I can't wait to hear you sing again.